


Five Times Sigyn Almost Gave up on Loki

by Syksy



Category: Norse Mythology -- Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:32:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syksy/pseuds/Syksy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sigyn's life would probably have been easier if she had never met Loki, but she would never think of it that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Sigyn Almost Gave up on Loki

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts).



> Thank you to Morbane for betaing this.

The first time was perhaps the hardest. Sigyn was barely out of girlhood, still revelling in the wonders of being called an adult now. They were expecting visitors and for the first time she had been given charge of the food being prepared. She'd spend most of the day sweating near the fire, getting her hair tangled and her face spotted black with soot. It was hard work, and not entirely necessary for her to take part in, but she was so very proud of herself for watching over every detail. She was a good housekeeper, would make someone an excellent wife, and she wanted everyone to know that.

She was going back to her chamber to change, and to make sure she looked every inch a woman of her station, when she met the strangers. Actually, only one of them was a stranger to her, the other two had visited before and were known to be polite (if not always kind). The two of them were ordinary enough, it was the third man who caught her off guard, the third man who had hair like wildfire and a smile like nothing else in the world.

“Hello there,“ said the stranger, “be a good girl and take us to your master.“ The mistake stung, but Sigyn could understand the reason for it, and tried to correct him as politely as she could. There was no need to make him uncomfortable and maybe even ashamed. He wouldn’t hear of it, though, and instead kept misunderstanding and twisting each of her words. She grew increasingly angry as she saw amusement building in the other men’s eyes. What right did he think he had to treat her so, especially when he clearly now knew who she was?

The final straw was when he casually reached a hand towards her, and before she could react, patted her behind, saying: “You really ought to run now, otherwise you might be late for the feast.“ She could not help it, the tears she had been fighting to keep at bay broke free and ran down her face, painting it with anger and shame for all the world to see. Her defeat was complete. This day was supposed to be perfect and he had ruined it, ruined everything. How could she face these guests at the table, knowing that they had seen her so low? She wanted to hurt him, but couldn’t think of anything clever enough to say, and she wasn’t a warrior that she could run him through with a sword, even if it was what she wanted more than she could ever remember wanting anything. So she just turned on her heel and left. At least her exit might appear dignified.

Later that evening, when she had gathered herself as best she could and gone to the hall (what else was she to do?), he sat next to her. He didn’t apologize (later she would learn that he never did) but somehow during that evening he made her laugh and smile and forget that she could have ever thought of hating him. In the morning she remembered, of course, but something had taken out the sting. Maybe it was how his jests had been much more cruel on others. Maybe it was the way he had seemed to genuinely delight in making her smile. Or maybe, just maybe, it was how he whispered, when she was turning to go, that he had known right at the beginning that no serving girl could ever be so pretty.

 

******

 

She had thought that it would be easier next time. She knew his ways then, understood and even appreciated his reckless cunning, his endless delight in the absurdities of their world. Apparently that wasn’t enough to keep her from being riled up by his antics. She knew that she shouldn’t mind, was berating herself all the while, but it didn’t help a bit. He just was so very good at making people angry.

Sigyn couldn’t even remember how it had started, when she suddenly realized that she was trying with all she was worth to drown her father’s guest in a barrel of rainwater. She looked down at her hands, red with cold, at her new red gown, now soaked most of the way through, and wondered what in the world she thought she was doing. The head under her hands twitched and she immediately let him go, mortified. It didn’t matter what he had said, guests were sacred. And in any case, she really was too old to play such rough games.

How was it, that he could make her lose control so? How did he reach into her chest and make her blood burn, her heart race and - oh dear no. It was so simple, so easy to see. How could she have missed it? It was no excuse that these feelings didn’t usually come accompanied by blinding rage, she should have known better than to ever expect anything involving him to be ordinary in any way at all.

She looked at Loki then, his bright hair grown dark with water, his smile unaltered and unalterable. For the first time a pure joy rose in her at the sight. Untainted by anger or bitterness or even wisdom (that would come later). How could she not love him? He was unique among all the creatures she had ever seen or heard tell of. He was so vibrant, so full of potential for things she did not even try to imagine. And he smiled to her, just now.

 

******

 

It was harder the third time, when she realized that he was not free, that he hade made promises to other women, had pledged his life and love to someone else. It did not change how she felt, nothing could do that any more, but it did make her love a dull ache, instead of the bright joy it had been before.

She smiled, made a pleasant comment, and kept her tears locked deep inside. Loki smiled, made a jest, and she knew that this might be enough. They could be friends, she could share his life, be his guide. She could teach him patience, show him how easy it was to hurt without meaning to, let him see the consequences of his actions in the mirror of her eyes. There would be a place for her in his life, a worthy, important place. And if it wasn't what her heart had wished for, well, life seldom gave gifts that pure.

They settled into a pattern of a kind. Sigyn would live her life, happy in her father’s house (most of the time). She would weave and spin and dream a little. Loki would have adventures, scheme and drink and love. And one day he would get the urge to visit, to see the girl (or was she a woman now?) who could make him be still for a while. Who tried, so very hard, to make him feel that he had a home, a place where he was always welcome and where nothing was expected of him but that which he wanted to give. Sometimes there might be years, in between, but the passing of time was no concern for immortals, was it?

 

******

 

The fourth time was different. Loki had done something with Thor and everyone was talking about it (but not to her, not about him). He came to visit her, expecting her to listen and nod and smile, like always before. And she just knew that she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do that any more. She could never change him. Loki's nature was what it was, and he would get into these scrapes, time after time, no matter how she tried.

“I have no need to hear any more of that,” she said and watched as amazement flooded his eyes, to be swiftly, oh so swiftly, repressed and replaced with irony. Still, she had seen that, and so was bold enough to continue. “What foolish games you play with your friends, who you endanger and who you anger are not my concern, I know. But I can refuse to be made party to your stupidity by learning the depth of it. Have you no real news to tell?”

Loki told her real stories then, of wonders he had seen when travelling in Midgard and elsewhere. They spent a pleasant evening and she thought that he had forgotten the almost argument, until the very end. When she rose to retire he leapt to his feet also and smiled his wickedest smile. “You will have to listen to all my stories soon enough, you know,” he said. “Oh, and why is that?” was her curt reply. “A wife has a duty to obey her husband, surely your parents taught you that,” he said, looking all too pleased with himself.

It was not a proposal that maidens dream of when doing their magic at midsummer night, but Sigyn didn’t need it to be. She had given up hope so long ago, almost convinced herself that there had never been any to begin with, not in her practical heart. She felt tears in her eyes and knowing that he would mock them (hadn’t she realized it just today, that he would always be the same?) she fled the hall. Alone in her chamber though, with a thundering heart and trembling hands, she hugged herself tight and smiled.

 

******

 

No, in truth, the last time was the hardest. Her arms ached from the weight of the cup, her legs had grown cramped and tired from sitting on the cold uneven stone and her eyes were blurry from unshed tears. She knew this was just the beginning, she knew that this would be her life from now on, day after day, year after year, until the end of time itself. She had accepted that, when she took the cup from Sif, who had offered it to her because she understood, though she never could approve. She had taken this upon herself, even if she hadn’t really known what it would be like, and she did not regret that decision. She just needed some time to adapt, to quell the resentment, the bitterness that rose unwelcome and unworthy in her chest. But of course Loki could not give her that.

"Woman," he said, in his most irritating voice, “why are you here?” He looked at her then and she searched his face for some clue of what this was about. It might be a trap, with him that was always likely, but it might be genuine too. The others, they never understood how she could love him, how she could keep forgiving him. They did not know, and she could never tell them, that she knew his heart as she knew her own. There was darkness there, of course, (hers had it too, though she doubted that anyone had ever seen that), but there was also a sincerity so deep that it almost broke her heart sometimes. That was part of the reason he was here now, though in a twisted way (and how else, with him?).

She couldn’t decide this time and so she chose to be honest. It might cost her, but he had so little now, why would she be stingy? So she told him some of the reasons. Told him about loving him, and living for him, and finding that she needed to live for herself too. Told him of understanding, very lately, that that might mean giving up as well as getting. That she had not, in fact, sacrificed anything by being with him, because being without would have been the greater loss.

Sigyn spoke for a long time, and Loki listened. And when her speech finally halted he smiled to himself, just a little, and not a wicked smile. She didn’t see it, having turned her eyes down near the end, and when she looked up he was ready for her. “That is all very well,” he grumbled, “but what I meant was, why aren’t you out there, trying at least to get a bigger cup?”


End file.
